So, how are you all doing tonight?! Wooooo! (crowd cheering)
It is now 5: 46 PM.
I'm going to turn the time over to my sister. She is really cool and she's my hero. I think she will become ruler of the free world, and dictator of the un-free world. She one day hopes to have her own unicorn farm (crowd booing). Give it up for my undeniably awesome sister!!!
How are we doing tonight?! (crowd cheering). My brother invited me here this evening to tell you all about something I know only hardly anything about. That's Dungeons and Dragons (TM). Also something I know very little about is spanish, but I once knew a girl who knew a girl that lived in Chile that said that instead of "hahaha" they write "jajaja". I am also prepared for quotes of the week. So let's get this show on the road.(crowd cheering)
Dungeons and Dragons is a game for people that lack personal hygiene (all lies) and have an interest in electronics (??). I know this because on Wednesday I get serious taco cravings and have a trip to taco time, and afterward I pick my brother up from his weekly "adventure (delve)." So I go into that place and it's like I'm back in AP chemistry (once this kid made an ester using butric acid, and decided to put it on himself because he wanted to smell like banana Laffy taffy, but it quickly broke down and became butric acid again, which smell just like vomit), sitting behind the kid in my AP physics class that has gas. That is how I know that DnD players tend to stink. They also sell comics there, and everyone knows that comic books attract stinky people.
In a world where my brother goes places and I go places with him, I see things unseen by others that are seeing. That means that once my mom made a joke about her stylus for her palm pilot in the presence of DnDers, and they found it most hilarious. Proof for the earlier discussed statement.
Quotes of the Week:
Monday: "You don't want to have a warm smoothie, it's like drinking fruity bathwater."
-- Neil Gaiman, on Arthur.
Tuesday: "Men often oppose a thing merely because they have had no agency in planning it, or because it may have been planned by those whom they dislike."
-- Alexander Hamilton (my hero!)
Wednesday: "Sometimes we don't do the things we want to do so that others won't know we want to do them."
-- Ivy, The Village
Thursday: "The voice of the people has been said to be the voice of God; and, however generally this maxim has been quoted and believed, it is not true to fact. The people are turbulent and changing, they seldom judge or determine right."
-- Alexander Hamilton
Friday: "The Kraken and the Watermelon Patch."
-- .......
Saturday: "hrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"
--Eva Joe
Sunday: "Well, put on your fancy stained jacket and gather round the fire in the trash can homeless romantic"
--Strong Bad
So, until next time, this is Dylan "El Coolio" Waters, and Lauren "Powderpuff" Waters, signing off.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Buh...
Well, it's getting late-ish, so I thought that to save time I would just post part of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) story. Now due to the problems of Blogger and its posting issues, this might mess up. Well here goes nothing! Imagine a huge lightbulb explosion if this messes up...
The lost tales of SilverCreek--- Grobble ran down the old cobble stone road, panting and heaving as he hurried to get home. He had about four more miles to run, and he had to get there soon if he was going to make it to the festival on time. The festival only came once a decade, and if you missed it, you probably would never see anything like it again. There were magic performances, acrobats, and insane tales told by bards about their journeys away from home. Grobble loved hearing these stories ever since he was a tiny child, and, in turn, the bards loved to tell their stories and sing their wondrous ballads as the music from their mouths and their words played into Grobble’s ears. And all of the food! All of the sweet-smelling aromas that would dance around anyone’s nose in exciting, scrumptious swirls of heat. Pies would come fresh out of the oven, freshly picked fruit would lie in baskets, and top quality fish would lay out on tables that were caught in the morning hours before.
Grobble ran past an old and cracked sign post. He struggled to read what it said, as time had worn it away. However Grobble realized that it was simply a sign to his village and that he would soon come to the lake. Passing farmer’s golden wheat fields, flowing meadows, dense forests and shining orchards, he finally reached the lake. Twilight began to dance on the long grass that would dance in the wind, and he knew there would not be enough time to go around the lake. So he plunged into the sparkling water.
Grobble’s long hair was like strands of seaweed, flowing each way through the clear blue water. Grobble punched and kicked for as long as he could until he felt his lungs were about to pop. He rose, but only for a moment, then sunk and swam to the end of the lake. It was late fall so when he splashed out of the water, he felt the cold of the crisp air sting his entire body. He was now so close to the village, and people were coming and going as the night went on. He bumped into people, knocked some down, and even jumped out of the way for a few very fast moving characters.
He past the stone arch that read IceMill and went past the thick, iron gate that was made by a signature blacksmith. Compared to the rest of the town, the gate was a beautiful beast, protecting the poor villagers from the monstrosities that lurk behind its walls. He nodded to the guards as he passed and he stared at their tired faces. They had obviously not had enough rest, and the festival attracts two kinds of people, well three if you count the goblins, Demons, and other strange beasts that easily get pushed out of town.
So until next time, in which, I will probably give you actual stuff, this is Dylan (no qoutes this week) Waters.
The lost tales of SilverCreek--- Grobble ran down the old cobble stone road, panting and heaving as he hurried to get home. He had about four more miles to run, and he had to get there soon if he was going to make it to the festival on time. The festival only came once a decade, and if you missed it, you probably would never see anything like it again. There were magic performances, acrobats, and insane tales told by bards about their journeys away from home. Grobble loved hearing these stories ever since he was a tiny child, and, in turn, the bards loved to tell their stories and sing their wondrous ballads as the music from their mouths and their words played into Grobble’s ears. And all of the food! All of the sweet-smelling aromas that would dance around anyone’s nose in exciting, scrumptious swirls of heat. Pies would come fresh out of the oven, freshly picked fruit would lie in baskets, and top quality fish would lay out on tables that were caught in the morning hours before.
Grobble ran past an old and cracked sign post. He struggled to read what it said, as time had worn it away. However Grobble realized that it was simply a sign to his village and that he would soon come to the lake. Passing farmer’s golden wheat fields, flowing meadows, dense forests and shining orchards, he finally reached the lake. Twilight began to dance on the long grass that would dance in the wind, and he knew there would not be enough time to go around the lake. So he plunged into the sparkling water.
Grobble’s long hair was like strands of seaweed, flowing each way through the clear blue water. Grobble punched and kicked for as long as he could until he felt his lungs were about to pop. He rose, but only for a moment, then sunk and swam to the end of the lake. It was late fall so when he splashed out of the water, he felt the cold of the crisp air sting his entire body. He was now so close to the village, and people were coming and going as the night went on. He bumped into people, knocked some down, and even jumped out of the way for a few very fast moving characters.
He past the stone arch that read IceMill and went past the thick, iron gate that was made by a signature blacksmith. Compared to the rest of the town, the gate was a beautiful beast, protecting the poor villagers from the monstrosities that lurk behind its walls. He nodded to the guards as he passed and he stared at their tired faces. They had obviously not had enough rest, and the festival attracts two kinds of people, well three if you count the goblins, Demons, and other strange beasts that easily get pushed out of town.
So until next time, in which, I will probably give you actual stuff, this is Dylan (no qoutes this week) Waters.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Almost good times...
I really like the titles of my blog. I like the fact that they rarely have to do with anything that I am ever talking about. So yeah, the flying car did explode in liftoff but at least they built the flying car, right? I have no idea what I'm talking about.
New paragraph! What should I talk about next? What's cool about writing a blog is that it is just like taking an adventure deep into the cerebral cortex. If that makes sense, I get kudos. The good king though, not the crappy candy kind. Because while you're writing your blog, you get to think about the past events, your regrets and your accomplishments, which for me, usually the regrets outweigh the accomplishments, and I feel like I failed during the week. But, that would be acting like a downer.
I got up at 8/7 today because of daylight savings ending, or is it beginning? Who knows?! All that I know is that I got an extra hour of sleep last night. I can remember the differences of daylight savings time because we spring forward and we fall back. See what I mean. It's cool and you know it, at least, it is cooler than what you thought it was.
So on Friday I went to a pretty cool party, where I made some friends, some enemies, and realized that I am not good at a lot of things. I also learned that my friends girlfriend hates me for reasons that I still don't know nor would I understand if I did know. Saturday came around, and I took my dogs to the park, then went to this party-ish thing with my mom's co-workers. They were ok. I was forced to play foosball, pinball and darts. I won't say anything else about it because I don't know how to without making it seem awkward. See, now you still feel awkward. Even the spelling of awkward is awkward. It looks like Ow-k'-ward. So yeah, vote for me, or don't because I don't even care.
Ummm, since I still have time to tell you something pointless, (like I haven't been telling you pointless things this whole time.) I will tell you one of my tales about lonely wednesday nights.
On wednesday, at about 6:15, My dad drives me down to this little game store that is tucked away in a corner out of sight called Hajomaje: Games, toys, and collectables, where I (hold on, my pot pie just finished.) drop off my backpack full of books and my tackle box full of small plastic miniatures representing everything from zombies to demons, and walk across the street to taco time. I get 2 chicken soft tacos then go back and play d&d. This story will be continued.
Qoutes for the week
Monday: I'm not tired
Tuesday:So I used my stapler
Wednesday: Immediately afterward
Thursday:I found it in my pocket
Friday: My keyboard had the ___ key taken out
Saturday: So then I cooked it...
Sunday: At the bottom of the stairs...
Some of these qoutes have inner jokes, in case you haven't noticed...
So until next time, this is Dylan Waters signing out/off
New paragraph! What should I talk about next? What's cool about writing a blog is that it is just like taking an adventure deep into the cerebral cortex. If that makes sense, I get kudos. The good king though, not the crappy candy kind. Because while you're writing your blog, you get to think about the past events, your regrets and your accomplishments, which for me, usually the regrets outweigh the accomplishments, and I feel like I failed during the week. But, that would be acting like a downer.
I got up at 8/7 today because of daylight savings ending, or is it beginning? Who knows?! All that I know is that I got an extra hour of sleep last night. I can remember the differences of daylight savings time because we spring forward and we fall back. See what I mean. It's cool and you know it, at least, it is cooler than what you thought it was.
So on Friday I went to a pretty cool party, where I made some friends, some enemies, and realized that I am not good at a lot of things. I also learned that my friends girlfriend hates me for reasons that I still don't know nor would I understand if I did know. Saturday came around, and I took my dogs to the park, then went to this party-ish thing with my mom's co-workers. They were ok. I was forced to play foosball, pinball and darts. I won't say anything else about it because I don't know how to without making it seem awkward. See, now you still feel awkward. Even the spelling of awkward is awkward. It looks like Ow-k'-ward. So yeah, vote for me, or don't because I don't even care.
Ummm, since I still have time to tell you something pointless, (like I haven't been telling you pointless things this whole time.) I will tell you one of my tales about lonely wednesday nights.
On wednesday, at about 6:15, My dad drives me down to this little game store that is tucked away in a corner out of sight called Hajomaje: Games, toys, and collectables, where I (hold on, my pot pie just finished.) drop off my backpack full of books and my tackle box full of small plastic miniatures representing everything from zombies to demons, and walk across the street to taco time. I get 2 chicken soft tacos then go back and play d&d. This story will be continued.
Qoutes for the week
Monday: I'm not tired
Tuesday:So I used my stapler
Wednesday: Immediately afterward
Thursday:I found it in my pocket
Friday: My keyboard had the ___ key taken out
Saturday: So then I cooked it...
Sunday: At the bottom of the stairs...
Some of these qoutes have inner jokes, in case you haven't noticed...
So until next time, this is Dylan Waters signing out/off
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